


She's Blonde

by SunlitGarden



Category: Riverdale (TV 2017)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Comfort/Angst, Exes, Exes to Lovers, F/M, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Implied/Referenced Cheating, Jealous Jughead Jones, Jughead isn't OVER IT, Mild Humor, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Post-Time Skip, Reconciliation Sex, Two Shot, but I did it myyyyy way, but everyone else is OVER IT, except for Betty who gets on top of and under Jughead at his request, minor Polly/Sweet Pea, oh no there was one bed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-11
Updated: 2021-02-17
Packaged: 2021-03-17 09:41:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,286
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29348328
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SunlitGarden/pseuds/SunlitGarden
Summary: Betty used to lotion her arms every night--she had to stop him from putting it on his face or he’d break out, she’d delicately pad something else across his forehead and cheeks, then kiss him. Smelled like lavender.Fuck.Jughead takes another sip.Blonde girl at the bar looks an awful lot like Betty from behind. Not quite right. But close.Close enough.
Relationships: Betty Cooper/Jughead Jones
Comments: 69
Kudos: 124





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Smudge](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Smudge/gifts).



> Jughead doesn't actually hit on or kiss anyone. He does get beat up a bit though bc boy is a MESS in this fic. So is my relationship with canon so I hope you enjoy thisssss and if not go check out my girl Smudge/ @thetaoofbetty bc she's great k thanks

She’s _blonde_.

That’s all Jughead registers as he rubs his lips. His knee’s bouncing and he can’t tell if he wants another drink or a cigarette.

Neither option is his preferred fix.

The girl across from him clears his throat. What’s her name? Tabitha?

“So, are you working on your next book?”

“Yeah.”

“What’s it about?”

He downs the rest of his drink and wipes his mouth, letting the burn settle in. “Don’t know, yet.”

She props her dry elbows on the table. “You wrote about this town, right?”

“Yep.”

Betty used to lotion her arms every night--she had to stop him from putting it on his face or he’d break out, she’d delicately pad something else across his forehead and cheeks, then kiss him. Smelled like lavender.

_Fuck._

He takes another sip.

Blonde girl at the bar looks an awful lot like Betty from behind. Not quite right. But close.

_Close enough._

He glares at the bar, where the blonde girl wraps her arms around a dark-haired Serpent in greeting.

Oh, they _kiss_ . They fucking _kiss!_

The Serpent on the guy’s neck burns into Jughead’s retina’s and a name slithers in the back of his brain.

Jughead stands. His chair falls to the floor, and Tabitha jerks back. “I need a refill. You need…?” White-knuckling his glass, Jughead storms to the bar.

_You fucking snake. You blood brother traitor. You…_

The Serpent sees Jughead a second before he grabs him, and the asshole has the nerve to smile. “Hey, Jughead! I didn’t--”

Jughead raises his glass, ready to smash that stupid snake off his neck.

“What the _fuck?_ ” Sweet Pea catches Jughead’s arm and pushes back just as Serpents swarm them.

Jughead spits, “Don’t _touch_ her!” It’s pathetic. But he can’t really verbalise how fucking _pissed_ he is.

Another one of his friends.

Another piece of shit.

The blonde scrambles into Snake Neck’s arms. “Sweet Pea!” Green eyes pop wide on Jughead’s face. Polly Cooper’s eyebrows knit together and the fight drains out of him. “Jughead?!”

 _Oh no_.

His knees give out and a few Serpents manage to keep his ass from hitting the floor.

Polly clenches her jaw as she brushes off Sweet Pea’s shirt. “Why did you try to hit my boyfriend?”

Jughead stammers. “I… I didn’t--”

_… know you weren’t your sister?_

The Serpents shove him upright but grab his arms to keep him in place like he’s an inflatable clown and it’s Sweet Pea’s turn to hit.

And he does.

The pain blinds Jughead for a few seconds. He wrinkles his nose, coughing as black spots deck his vision.

“Welcome back.” Sweet Pea shakes out his hand.

“At least this time you’re not wearing the brass knuckles.” Jughead chuckles, swallowing his blood.

Sweet Pea cracks a smile. “FYI, as long as it’s okay with her, I’ll touch my girlfriend as much as I want.”

Tabitha walks up, bag in hand.

“Hey. I was just catching up with an old friend,” Jughead says, straightening his spine when the Serpents let him go. He wipes his greasy hair back and offers her his best “bar charming” grade smile. “Do you want another--”

She swings her bag against the side of his face.

He blinks, standing still, as she storms off.

“Probably for the best.” Adjusting his jaw, Jughead sighs. “Sorry about that. Can I buy you a…”

_Water?_

He’s fairly certain there’s only $37 in his bank account and Tabitha’s and his tab is gonna max him out with a tip.

He was hoping she’d be charmed enough to treat him. Or that the goodwill of the Serpents would cover his shit, start a tab.

Maybe attacking Sweet Pea wasn’t the best game plan.

_As if he has a plan..._

“No, man.” Sweet Pea shuffles awkwardly, wrapping his arm around Polly’s waist. “You should go. Sober up. We can catch up when you’re…” He eyes him. “Feeling better.”

Jughead snorts. “Yeah, okay. Enjoy…” He waves at Polly. “This while you can.”

He spins around, the room blurring, only for a kick to the back of his knee to send him stumbling to the ground.

“Get over yourself, Jughead. And don’t go crawling back to my sister after treating her like shit.”

Jughead turns, his vision laser-sharp. “She cheated on _me_ and _I’m_ the one you’re mad at?”

“You said you forgave her and you didn’t mean it.” Polly crosses her arms. “If you loved her, you wouldn’t have punished her at all. But you kissed Veronica, and you put distance between you and Betty any time there was a new project, forced her to fake-date her best friend during a traumatic brainwashing recovery to cover _your_ mistake, and then you blamed her for being confused about her feelings. That’s why she kissed Archie in the first place, you jackass.”

He laughs, a high, careening loony-tunes sound. “Confused? Really? Blaming the other partner when someone cheats? Super classy. How are the twins, again? Or were they taken away when you joined a backwards-ass cult and--”

“Just go, Jughead.” Sweet Pea rubs Polly’s arm. “Nothing good comes from rehashing the past.”

“I sold a whole fucking book on it!”

He gets not-so-gracefully escorted out by the scruff of his neck, and Sweet Pea apologetically punches him again.

_Unbelievable._

The fresh air does enough to sober Jughead into pacing, planning.

Betty can’t be too far away if Polly’s warning him off it.

Visiting Elm Street, perhaps?

 _Let’s get the whole fam back together_.

Knocking at the house he used to live seems ridiculous. But it’s locked. He jiggles the handle and curses when he doesn’t find the spare key in any of the normal places. There’s no mail in the mailbox to confirm the Coopers… Smiths?... whatevers, still live there.

Even if there was a new last name, it was possible Alice changed it. Or Betty, if she got married.

Ugh, his drinks bubble back up his throat like his stomach’s a volcano about to erupt.

_No._

They’re both young. There’s no way she would’ve gotten married.

He flexes his sweating hands and cases the house, then the old Andrews’ place for the ladder. The shed is locked.

Well.

A broken door or window is small potatoes next to kissing someone else’s girlfriend.

Jughead thrusts his elbow at the pane and pain shoots through his pinky, though he’s fairly numb to the rest of it. The thing didn’t break. Must have been reinforced.

The neighborhood’s gone to shit, Jughead guesses.

So has his life.

What a coincidence.

He sighs and pulls up his suspender-less pants despite the strain at his gut and attempts to climb the side of the house to see if Betty’s in her--in _their_ old room.

_Mother fucking memories._

First kisses. Confessions.

He loses his grip and skids down the brick, skinning his palms and knee. “Fuck!”

The click of a rotating chamber resets his drunk-ass mind.

 _Oh, shit_.

“Freeze, fucker!”

Jughead raises his hands and turns slowly. “I used to live here.”

“Fat ch--”

He swallows hard.

_She’s still blonde._

_Fuck, and she’s gorgeous_.

Betty’s aim falls from his head to his heart.

_Take your best shot._

“Jughead?”

“Hey, Betts.”

_Fuuuuuck why did he say ‘Betts?’_

_Why?!_

He’s a masochist. He’s officially checking into those rehab facilities his agent sent over before dropping him.

Do teachers who haven’t worked yet and failed writers have health insurance for that? Probably not. Nor all the therapy he’s going to need from the fact that he’s got a half-stiff traitor pressing against his jeans at his ex-girlfriend pointing a _gun_ at him.

Betty rotates ninety degrees and lowers the gun. “I… don’t have time for this.”

He blinks hard.

They were together for years. They said they’d love each other forever.

And he showed up after seven years and...

“What?”

She waves. “I’m sorry, but there’s a serial killer on the loose and I can’t have a drunk ex boyfriend breaking in and fucking with my head.”

“You swear a lot.”

 **_My_ ** _Betty didn’t._

But this girl--woman--with a lot of hair swirled in a top knot, glares at him. “It’s a healthy outlet.”

He looks at her curled fists, one of which has a gun.

A tiny part of him suggests backing down, that this isn’t the best time.

But his stupid heart speaks for him.

“Not like kissing my best friend?”

Her jaw ticks and the moonlight shines across her eyes. “Fuck you, Jughead.” 

“Betty! Betty, wait! I’m sorry, I--” He trips over himself chasing her, and stumbles when she stops in front of the door, whirling on him, close enough to almost be the fourth person to clock him that night.

“Seven years! We’re still dealing with serial killers and bullshit drama from the past that’s out of our hands! Why are you even here?”

He smooths the front of his twice-worn shirt. “I got a job.”

She arches a brow and shakes her head. _And?_

_Oh, yeah, that’s usually a given for adults, which he is._

“Why are you on my doorstep in the middle of the night, Jughead?”

“I…” He sighs and wipes his hair. “Can I come in for a nightcap?”

“You’ve had enough.” She opens the door and starts to slam it on him when he shoves himself in between it, remembering how nervous he’d been after their first time, their reconciliation and she hadn’t said, “I love you” back. Her eyes were bloodshot but she’d smiled in relief upon seeing him, stroked his face, reassured him with surprising tenderness after mopping up a murder. And when she said she’d had something to tell him then, he’d hid a body for her, no question. So had his dad for Alice.

“Where the _fuck_ were our priorities?” he asks, and Betty stares at him, bewildered.

“Jughead…” Her gaze dips to his lips, and she shakes her head. “I have a cat.”

“That’s… your prio--”

“I have to close the door.” She steps back. “You should come in.”

“Okay. Um, okay, then.”

He slides past her and sweeps his gaze across the house. It’s not so different from when he last saw it, though there’s a new rug and couch in the center--it’s sort of like stepping into an alternate past.

Betty crosses her arms and taps her toes, not meeting his gaze. “Can I get you a coffee? Or some bread?”

“Yeah, thanks.”

Asking for Pop’s takeaway would probably be pushing his luck.

She gestures to the couch and turns away.

Gingerly sitting down, he eyes the Missing People posters on the coffee table and the journal with her handwriting. He scoots forward, tempted to lift it for closer inspection when Betty’s voice cuts through with, “Don’t touch that.”

He huffs a laugh. “Bossy.”

 _And you like it_ , the Betty in his head purrs.

“It’s classified,” she mutters, hanging him a coffee mug and muffin before gathering the posters and shoving them under a chair cushion. Sighing, she sinks onto the far side of the couch and rubs her forehead.

He sips his coffee. It burns his tongue but it tastes good. _Strong_.

“Thanks,” he says, not sure what he’s actually doing here. “So. You’re a PI?”

“FBI,” she replies dully, as if she’s just said she’s a penny counter.

“That’s great.” He rubs the outside of the warm, smooth, mug. It’s one he used when he lived here.

_Why didn’t he take it with him?_

Betty scoffs. “It’s not as glamorous as Clarice Starling made it out to be.”

He’s almost tempted to laugh.

Is it appropriate to enjoy his time with the girl who ripped his heart out?

 _Masochist_ , his inner critic sing-songs.

“What’s your new job?” she asks with tired, Cooper-drilled politeness.

“I’m teaching at Riverdale High.”

She _looks_ at him.

“What?”

“Is that why you came by?”

“Why…?”

She crosses her legs and pushes her palms against her knees. “I’m… starting there this year, too.”

 _Ah._ “Archie?”

She shrugs and looks at the kitchen, or more accurately, the closed curtains over there. It’s the opposite direction of the Andrews house.

“Are you two… close, still?”

Betty shrugs again. “Does it matter?”

_So that’s a yes._

And he can’t tell whether he’s more upset they stayed close to each other and not to him, or that they’re close at all.

It pricks. It pulls.

“I should go, then. He probably wouldn’t want you hanging out with your ex boyfriend.” He moves to put his coffee cup down and pocket the muffin, but Betty stops him.

“No, he doesn’t--we’re not close like… he’s not my _boyfriend_. We’re… just what we’ve always been. Friends.” The last word strains and she blinks away tears.

Jughead’s tempted to touch her perfect jaw, to see if it hurts in a good way.

“ _Friends_.”

“I’m sorry, Jughead. I’m sorry for what happened, for my part in it.” She sniffs and folds forward, her face in her hands. “But I don’t have anything left to give. You can’t keep punishing me for it.”

 _Yes I can_ , an angry, bitter part of him says, but if he listens to it, he’ll just keep being miserable.

It’s a foreign feeling to splay his palm across her back and not know if she’ll pull away. Her muscles flex, and he treasures the warmth through her threadbare shirt. “That’s what Polly said.”

She looks up, eyes wet. “What?”

“I’m not here for answers, or to yell. I mean, maybe I was, but… I think I just missed this,” he admits, gesturing to the house.

_I missed us._

Betty sniffs and sits up, silent for a moment, until her sleepy voice grates out, “Do you need a place to stay? I don’t know what your dad and my mom worked out with the house, anyway, she just said--”

“Yeah. Yes.” He gulps half the coffee down and licks his lips, reenergized. “I’d like that, Betts.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ok it's messy and chaotic and such is life and Riverdale sometimes, am I right? Also, for anyone concerned about the fact Jug's been drinking, he sobered up on coffee, ice packs to the face, and possibly a cold shower before bed. They're in the same bed JUST BECAUSE (but my head canon is bc alice is remodeling) ok go enjoy hugs kisses bughead yay

He clears his throat at the sight of Betty in an oversized shirt, her ass up in the air, magnificent, muscled, and begging to be slapped.

_ Stop _ , he begs his perverted lizard brain. The same one that notices where she’s headed--the same place she used to gravitate when they had a fight and she missed him when he was at Stonewall Prep.

“You’re on my side of the bed.” He means it as a joke, but she freezes and looks from him to the mattress as if putting together some disturbing puzzle pieces about her sleep habits. “Sorry, what  _ was  _ my side of the bed. I, um, I flipped to the other side, once I had a full-size. Never quite upgraded to a queen again.” The double-entendre floats through the air and he lowers his gaze and sits on the other side of the mattress. “So you can stay there.”

“Right. Okay, then.” She takes out the top knot and it’s nothing but long, tumbling, gorgeous hair, the scent of her shampoo wafting over him, and he wants to bury himself in it.

He clears his throat and gazes around their old room with their old high school photos still pinned on the dresser. “This is like walking into a time capsule.” Chuckling, he turns, but Betty avoids looking at any of it, lotioning her hands (peppermint, this time, not lavender), no comment. “Why’d you leave them up?”

“Why did you?” she counters, slipping one long, eye-catching leg under the covers.

His tongue feels too big for his mouth. Technically, he was the last one in there before they left for college. But she could’ve packed some besides his school picture -- the same photo she blew up for his fake funeral, taped in her locker, and pinned to her dream board. Maybe there’s something about that, then.

He didn’t take any besides the few he had from Stonewall. Betty in a cheerleading uniform, the two of them at Homecoming (before he ran away and she chased him, then absolved his dad), and one she captured of him eating a burger and making it to the wall of famous customers at Pop’s. When he got back from the lonely reunion where no one else showed up, Jughead had shoved them all in books so no one would question him about his high school sweetheart. Then, he’d been too afraid to open the books again and tear his heart open.

“I guess I expected we’d put them up in our apartment. And then when we didn’t…” He pushes his hair back. “I thought you’d want to have them.”

She nods and draws her knees to her chest. “We could divvy them up now.”

“Right now?” He laughs. “No, that’s too depressing.”

“Okay, well, I’m going to bed.” Betty rolls over and punches her pillow into a fluffy circle, full-on in fetal position.

“This feels like we never left,” he mutters again, still amused, because otherwise he’d be devastated. “I’ll get the lights, Betts.”

She sits up, eyes flashing. “Jughead?”

“Yeah?” He hesitates, holding his breath, only half off the bed.

“I… I kind of have night terrors.”

“Oh.” He shoves his hands in his pockets. That’s new. “Do you want me to leave a side light on then?”

“Yeah, thanks.” She watches him, green eyes calculating and guarded, and she rubs her feet together under the covers.

He can’t just  _ ask _ , can he?

Jughead clicks on the delicate side lamp and flicks off the main. “Are they nightmares about kissing Archie?”

Her eyes crinkle up like she’s about to laugh, but then the light in them goes out. “No, that’s yours, isn’t it?”

“Heyyyyy.” He lifts his arms and shimmies like they’re in a bad, old-school comedy club. “It’s like every nightmare I’ve ever had becomes a reality. Maybe it’s a gift.”

Scowling, she swings her feet off the bed. “I already told you I regret it. Karma’s a bitch, okay? You don’t have to worry about that. I got mine and Archie got his. We had trauma--”

“Your soulmate cheating on you with your best friend isn’t trauma?”

“Of course it is!” The back of her hand slaps against the mattress, and she practically growls before holding her head. “God, why are you even here? I’m still the girl who broke your heart. And you’re still the guy too wrapped up in his own problems to see anything--or anyone else--or how you’re hurting them--and yourself! I mean, what are you doing slugging your friend for kissing a blonde seven years after you and I broke up?”

His heart hammers against his ribcage and he glances at the window facing the Andrews home. “Delayed reaction?”

Betty stands up. “This was a mistake. I’ll rent a hotel room or sleep on the couch--even the paint fumes in other rooms are preferable to endlessly being tortured for something I wish never happened!”

“Betty, stop!” He throws himself in front of the door and wrestles with her shoulders, slammed back against the hardwood multiple times by her determination to wrangle past him. His brain rattles, hormones raging, and god, he’s  _ touching her  _ again and it’s everything and nothing like he imagined. It’s magnetic, the way his hands frame her face, and he leans in.

She jerks her face away, but stills. “What do you  _ want _ from me, Jughead? What do you want to take before you push me away?”

“I’m done with that,” he promises, running his thumb along her chin. And maybe he is. Or he could be. “I just want to feel good again.”

“Then you should get some rest, not jump into bed with--”

He silences her with recklessness, with desperation. Their lips are smashed together and her knees buckle against his legs. Her peppermint lip balm serves as a salve to his stinging, slightly broken lips. And eventually, they unclasp, and Betty’s eyes are unfocused, hazy on him.

He’d had fantasies of something like this--that she’d show up on campus, break down his door, and fuck him back to his senses. Or that she’d slide his book across the table at a signing with her hotel room key inside of it (heaven knows he got enough of that from hopeful authors and “fans”--though it always felt too creepy to take them up on it). Or just…  _ this _ .

_ Them. _ Back together. The white noise of his debt, the drinking, and his unfinished draft fade to white noise when he kisses her again, kisses her until she kisses just as hard back--his shoulders clattering against the door, and something falls off a hook with a soft thump.

She jumps up, rolling her knee on his hips, and he struggles to catch her legs in time, surprised by how easy it is to hold onto her, to carry and crash into the bed.

_ He’ll never leave, again _ , the narrator in his head says, and it’s the first time he’s heard it in  _ years _ .

God, he wishes he’d just called her, again. He wishes he’d sent her a text. Showed up on her doorstep. Punched Archie in the face and sobbed on Betty’s shoulder and been done with it so he could get the last seven years of his life back.

He shoves Betty’s shirt up and off, then the smart camisole.

“God, I’ve missed this,” he moans, dragging his fingers along the grooves of her waist before mouthing at her breasts. When he’s sucked and twisted to his heart’s content, he pulls back long enough to rip off his own shirt, then pulls down the waistband of her shorts and soft, cotton underwear.

Betty squirms, her hair a heavy golden curtain so long her elbows catch on it. “Jughead. You don’t have to--”

“I want to. I need to, in fact.” He wiggles the materials off her legs, chucks them across the room, and hoists a leg over his shoulder before lavishing her in attention.

He hasn’t done  _ this  _ in so long. Hasn’t done anything but scratched an itch.

She pants his name, coating him in her slick. But only a taste.

He’s too impatient.

His leather belt hisses through the loops of his pants, and Betty’s eyes are dark, dazed, yet hyper-focused on him, on the splay his erect cock creates even before he manages to get the zipper down. “Do you miss my suspenders?” he teases.

“I missed you, Jughead.”

Well fuck if that isn’t the right answer.

As soon as he’s naked, she tugs him into bed, then rolls him onto his back and pins him, kissing him into oblivion. For a second, he tenderly closes his fingers over her hands, and he feels the hot, shaky waiver of her breath catch. “I missed you so much.”

“Show me,” he entreats.

She drags her fingernails down his arms, deepening their kisses, before biting down his chest to the crown amidst flowers emblazoned on his chest. She gifts him with her passion, and he soaks it up like a drowning man with oxygen--finally able to breathe again.

This time, when they’re done, she lays her head on his arm and traces his tattoos until he passes out. They shift throughout the night, sometimes spooning, sometimes facing away, but every time he wakes up, he chooses to move closer again, to spoon her or turn when she paws at his hip.

_ Let me in, let me in. _

They have have sex in the morning with a certain hesitance as if each move is on a tightrope even though she’s sitting on his lap.

When he drags himself downstairs in last night’s clothes, he’s sort of stunned by how put-together she is. How  _ grown up _ . Blonde hair all wavy but neat, half-back with bobby pins covered by a blue beret. “Good morning! Would you like some coffee? And breakfast?”

“Yeah, thanks.” As soon as her back is turned, he scans her notepad on the other side of the table. It’s a pro-con list. “What…?  _ I can finally talk to my therapist about something other than serial killers, especially TBK _ . Is this the standard I’m met with?” Jughead laughs. “What about ‘great in bed?’”

“That’s number seven,” she tells him, pursing her lips and sliding the mug across the counter.

“That far down the list? Alright, let’s see the con column.” He takes a sip of coffee and feels his heart sink to his stomach when he reads her fears about abandonment or fucking things up again. There’s also a section questioning if he really still loves her or just needs a place to crash. “Well, I’ve made my decision whether I want to get back together or go our separate ways.” He pushes the notebook away and rubs his face.

“What is it?”

“Say it at the same time. One--”

“No!”

“Two--”

“That’s childish,” she laments.

“Three!”

“Get back together,” they say at the same time.

Satisfied, Jughead toasts her with his coffee mug. “We’ll figure out the rest. Now, where’s this fabled cat?”

~~

It’s not easy, “the rest.”

There’s a serial killer, a bunker full of trauma to unpack, Archie-ness, wellness programs, and high school drama to obstruct their path to what most people would call a “happily ever after.”

But they come out the other side of it stronger and more passionate for one another than ever, ready to face the next challenge - including another book launch, where a freshly-shaven Jughead nervously plays with his suspenders as someone in the crowd asks him a question. “How would you describe your muse?”

He clears his throat. Where to begin? “Well, she’s blonde…”

As he rambles on, growing more complimentary, specific, and outrageous, Betty shakes her head and smiles at him.

_ She’s mine _ , he thinks fondly,  _ and I’m hers, and that’s all that matters. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What do you think Jughead said about Betty at the end? :P Hope you enjoyed, always happy to bond over bughead love

**Author's Note:**

> I swear I'm still working on my other fic T-T I AAAAM. But spite fic helps me drag out of depression and I want to indulge my weird brain once in a while. If you like my writing, try my @eviebennetbooks original works or just comment here. I'm once in a while on tumblr @lovedinapastlife. How are you feeling? Also this fic is not hating on either of these babies so if you wanna leave a super mean comment about either one of them or myself, take a breath, have a chocolate, message a friend, and go find a fic that makes you happy to spread love instead of hate pls. Muchas gracias. Have a wonderful day!


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